


One Hell of a Trip

by Acting4Hope



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Duck Newton, Weed, also hes maybe a little gay for a moth??? who knows???, bc if ur duck aint trans then what r doing folks, duck just wants to smoke his weed please, last chapter takes place after ep 20 but before the events leading up to 21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acting4Hope/pseuds/Acting4Hope
Summary: Duck is just trying to smoke a joint when a strange figure joins him in his weed-smoking escapades.





	1. Meet the Moth

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for weeks, ever since Justin first mentioned that Duck used to smoke pot. Also, if I fucked up the lingo at all, just keep in mind that I have never smoked pot in my life and only know some terms through cultural osmosis. This was mainly an excuse to have Duck flirt w Indrid while high, though that didn't entirely work out. It's late, though, so I'm just gonna leave this here.

Strange things happen in Kepler. Duck knows this-- _has_ known this for over two decades, at this point. Everyone in Kepler knows this; it’s practically the mantra for the more cryptozoological-minded folks ‘round town. Even the tourists coming into Kepler know it; they hear it from every tour-guide, every ski instructor, every _local_ they come across. The phrase has been burned into the deepest parts of Duck’s subconscious.

 

But the thing about stuff everyone knows is that then you have a tendency to _forget_ the truth behind that fact. There’s a _reason_ that saying makes its way into every ear in Kepler.

 

It’s because _weird stuff happens_.

 

Duck just never thought he’d be the one to experience it firsthand.

 

\---

 

It’s a colder afternoon than most in early October as Duck trudges through the familiar woods behind his parent’s home. He takes the time to admire the brilliant autumnal foliage as he makes his way to his secret spot. The buzzing of his nerves ebbs and fades as sounds of the forest fill him from the inside out. By the time he’s halfway to his spot, he barely remembers the argument that caused him to walk out in the first place.

 

You see, the upside of going to community college in Kepler is that it’s not actually _in_ Kepler; it’s two towns out because Kepler doesn’t have a big enough population to warrant a school in town. The downside to that is that it’s still close enough to not have an excuse to the lack of visits Duck has paid his parents. And it’s not like he’s trying to _avoid_ them. He loves them dearly, make no mistake, it’s just--they’re _difficult_.

 

Duck smiles when he reaches a small clearing, the familiar moss-covered ground almost beckoning him to sit down and take a load off. He does so, leaning back on one hand while ruffling through his jacket pocket with the other. After a moment, he finds what he’s looking for: a plastic baggie containing a single joint. He would just leave it uncovered in his pockets, but his father has a nose like a bloodhound, and he does _not_ want to have another conversation about the “negative effects of marijuana on the young mind”. He fishes the joint out of the bag and then produces a lighter from his pocket. In one fluid motion, Duck places the joint between his lips and then lights it, dropping the lighter onto his lap and taking one long hit.

 

His parents are difficult in the way that they are totally fine with some monumental things, but are absolutely against the most minor of bullshit. For instance, when Duck finally approached his parents about...well, being _Duck_ , they had no issue. Hell, his father handed him the cash needed in order to get his name legally changed and his mother was on the phone with the doctor the next day to get him started on T. But when it came to something as simple as the way he cut his _hair_ , all of a sudden it’s an argument! God forbid a man forgets to cut his hair for a couple months, that doesn’t mean he’s gonna quit school and join the Peace Corps. or some shit!

 

Duck plucks the joint out of his mouth and exhales, watching the smoke rise up and then dissipate into the autumn air. He tucks the offending hair behind his ear and tilts his head up towards the sky. He shuts his eyes and just lets himself...exist, just for a moment.

 

And then, there’s a gust of wind that nearly knocks Duck over as the sound of something thuds against the ground in front of him. Duck jerks his head up and opens his eyes to see something...well, uh, something _strange_ hunched in on itself in front of him.

 

The... _thing_ is jet black and _big_ . Fuck, even in this hunched-over state it’s still a foot taller than Duck’s sitting form. Duck distinguishes some sort of...fur? Feathers? Somethin’ _fuzzy_ all over the thing’s body. He thinks there’s wings(?) on its back, now wrapping slightly around the creature. He sees long feet, but they don’t look like no ordinary foot. Almost looks...like a bug? Bug feet? Do bugs even have feet? Damnit, Duck should know _something_ about insect anatomy after his two semesters of zoology.

 

As Duck contemplates the foot anatomy of a bug, the thing lifts its head up and locks eyes with Duck. And boy, does this thing have _eyes._

 

Loads of eyes. Too many damn eyes, all a bright crimson red and all locked on him. Now that the thing is directly facing Duck, he can make out some more features. Two fuzzy antennae stick out of the head of this creature, and it has three sets of insect-like-yet-somehow-fucking-humanoid arms protruding from its thorax. It has one set of legs, similar-looking to the arms save for the long feet. The middle set of hands on this creature appear to be holding some sort of necklace by its chain, along with a broken pair of round sunglasses.

 

It looks like a fucking moth. But also, kinda like a man.

 

It’s a moth-man.

 

Wait, moth-man…? Where has he--

 

“Aw, _fuck_ ,” Duck says, and then takes another hit. And then one more for good measure. And then another, just because the sight of _the motherfucking Mothman_ hasn’t left him, in what will go down in history as one of the worst trips Duck’s ever had.

 

“I, um--hello.” The Goddamn Mothman says, sounding sheepish. Like he’s interrupted someone’s dinner date and not just _existed as the fucking Mothman in front of Duck_. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be, uh...here.”

 

Duck continues to stare for what must be a solid two minutes before taking another hit and shrugging. “Eh, neither was I, to be fair.” He says, then blows another cloud of smoke from his lips. The Mothman looks like he expected Duck to say more, or to maybe scream and run. But when he doesn’t, he moves into a seating position (can moths sit? Duck has no clue.) and wrings all three sets of hands together.

 

“Well, you’re certainly, uh...very... _calm_ , about this wholeeeee...thing.” The Mothman says, gesturing with his top set of hands vaguely around his form. Duck shrugs again.

 

“I’ve seen weirder.” Duck says simply, tilting his head back again as he takes another hit.

 

“You’ve seen...weirder.” The Mothman replies, sounding skeptical.

 

“Uh-huh,”

 

“Weirder than the Mothman?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Wouldn’t’ve said it if I hadn’t,”

 

“Well, now you’ve got me curious. What could _possibly_ be weirder than seeing the Mothman?”

 

“You ever watch a baby platypus hatch?”

 

“I...can’t say I haven’t.”

 

“It’s fuckin’ weird, dude.” Duck smiles a little to himself when he hears the Mothman laugh, and then frowns because does the Mothman have a normal mouth to laugh from? Or is it just that proboscis thing that butterflies have? But then how would he be able to talk? Is he projecting his voice into Duck’s mindoh fuck he is isn’t he he’s tapped into Duck he’s probed him he’s gonna fuckin’ fish his memories for life force or some shit oh _fuck_ \---  

 

“Duck Newton, I can guarantee you that I am not ‘tapped in’ to your brain. I’m talking with a mouth, like any other being capable of speech.” The Mothman says, cutting off Duck’s train of thought. Duck looks back to him and notices that, yeah, the Mothman has a mouth. That’s...cool, he guesses, and that also kinda tracks with the whole “part moth part man” thing--

 

“Wait a minute,” Duck says, realization slowly reaching him in his THC-addled state, “how do you know my name?” The Mothman seems to realize what he’s done and rubs the back of his moth-neck nervously.

 

“Oh, uhhh, there’s a timeline in which that’s a topic we hit sooner.” He explains, which almost makes sense until it doesn’t because _what the fuck does that even mean--_ “I can assure you it all makes sense when I explain it in-full, Duck. I just don’t think you’re...in the state-of-mind to be hearing it.” The Mothman watches as Duck takes another especially long hit. “Especially with how quickly you’re burning through that blunt. You should really, uh, slow your roll there…”

 

Duck looks down at his joint and notices that he’s nearly halfway through it and feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Damn, really playing the whole “hippie burnout” part his father’s been preaching on about for the past two hours, huh?

 

“Sorry,” Duck says, taking a much smaller hit this time. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this today until the literal Mothman showed up.” He laughs a little, and then laughs some more when he hears the Mothman snicker along with him. Then he’s laughing too much because he’s finally feeling the high he’s been riding on for the past ten minutes. And then he’s craning his head back and just _howling_ with laughter because why the hell not? The Mothman is kickin’ it and he’s got long hair like a hippie and _who gives a shit_!?

 

When he finally comes off his giggle-fit, he notices the Mothman watching him with amusement and a little curiosity. Duck smiles at him and takes a few deep breaths of air. He’s needed this-- _god_ , this is all so stupid but he’s _needed_ something stupid to take his mind off of all the bullshit in his life.

 

“You seem like you’re in better spirits now, Duck Newton,” The Mothman notes with somethin’ resembling a smile. Duck nods.

 

“Yeah, guess I am,” Then, something occurs to him. “Wait, you know my name, but like...do _you_ have a name? Or is it just ‘The Mothman’?” The Mothman snickers again and shakes his head.

 

“No, my name is not ‘The Mothman’. That name was gifted to me by the locals of your--um, your...people,” He looks nervous again, head turning all around him as if looking for something. “I don’t think it would be wise to give away my true name to you _just_ yet, but…” And then he locks eyes (so many eyes, _god_ they’re big too) with Duck and smiles again. “I doubt you will be remembering much of this by the time Fate has destined us to cross paths again. So, you can call me Indrid.”

 

“Indrid…” Duck repeats, mind sluggishly trying to parse all of the words Indrid just said. Indrid’s a cool name. Damn, that’s a _really_ cool name. Fuck! Why didn’t Duck think of that?! “It’s nice to meet ya, Indrid. I’m, uh, well you know I’m Duck Newton, I guess…” He sits up so he can stick his free hand toward Indrid. “It’s nice to meet ya.”

 

Indrid looks confused for a moment, then shakes his head and reaches a hand out to shake Duck’s. It’s the weirdest feeling Duck has ever felt; fuzzy and freezing cold, with only three long fingers and a thumb. Somehow, though, it’s also the _best_ feeling Duck has ever felt, and he’s actually a little reluctant to let go.

 

“It is a pleasure finally meeting you, Duck Newton. Though, I do apologize for my…current appearance. I was hoping we would meet when I looked more humanoid, but my disguise shattered during a recent run-in with the locals.” Indrid says, holding up the shattered sunglasses to further his point. Duck tilts his head in confusion as he takes another hit.

 

“Disguise? Those’re just sunglasses, m’man.” Duck says, earning himself another snicker from Indrid. For some reason, that makes Duck smile again.

 

“To you, they look like just sunglasses. But I assure you that, would I be wearing them right now, you would be seeing a much...more appealing Indrid in front of you.” Indrid explains, gesturing a hand around as he speaks. “I understand that this form can be very disturbing to most folks.”

 

“I mean, not really.” Duck says, and then immediately goes rigid because Indrid is giving him a strange look. “I-I mean! Like--okay, you were a lil’ weird t’look at at first, but, like--you’re like a moth! N-Not to say moths don’t look weird, ‘cause they do--you ever see a moth up close? A-Anyway, it’s like--yeah, but, like, also--fuck! You’re kinda cute? Does--shit, that don’t make any sense, huh. You’re a moth! B-But also, like, a dude? A moth-dude. I-It ain’t, like, shit--I don’t know!” He stares at Indrid for a moment, who is staring right back with that same strange look. He feels his whole facing burning. “Forget I said anything!!”

 

Indrid stares for another moment longer, unblinking eyes watching Duck’s every movements, and then...he laughs. He laughs real hard, and loud. Not any of the snickering he’s been doing, but a real _genuine_ laugh. And it isn’t mocking, either. It’s a genuine laugh of _relief_ , or some emotion that doesn’t make Duck immediately want to crawl into a hole and die. Indrid leans back and laughs hard enough to make his whole body tremble with it. And seeing the Literal, Genuine, Bonafide Mothman laugh...makes Duck laugh. He laughs just as hard; he laughs enough to drop his joint. He leans forward and wheezes in laughter right along with Indrid. The forest, for a while, is filled with the sound of jovial laughter.

 

And then, after a few minutes, the laughing begins to taper off. Duck wipes tears from his eyes as Indrid leans forward and takes a deep breath. The two come back into themselves and then slowly return to their previous positions. Duck notices his blunt burning a little hole in the moss and curses, scrambling to pick it up before it causes any real damage. Indrid watches this and snickers, just a little bit, before taking another deep breath.

 

“I, heh, have to admit I was not expecting that kind of response.” Indrid says, his voice hoarse from laughter. “You are...interesting, to say the least, Duck Newton.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what my Pops tells me,” Duck replies with a smile. Indrid looks at him and smiles (or, whatever sort of smiling the Mothman can do) and then seems to remember something. Or maybe notice something? Either way, his entire body goes stiff as he seems to gaze through Duck and into nothing. Duck looks at him in concern and is about to say something when Indrid suddenly stands.

 

Boy, he’s _tall_. Duck’s previous observation of Indrid being big is very obvious when he stands to full height. He’s probably, like, 7’ something while standing. Duck gulps. Did it get hot just now, or is it just Duck?

 

Indrid looks down at Duck and attempts to smile, but it looks rigid and unsettling. “I apologize for the abrupt departure, but it appears as though I am needed elsewhere,” he says, formalities masking the foreign tone, “Until we meet again, Duck.”

 

And then, with another large gust of wind, Indrid’s gone. Duck watches his form fly up into the air and then virtually disappear in the darkening sky.

 

Damn, darkening? It’s getting late; Duck didn’t realize how long he’s been out here for. He should really head back home.

 

Duck looks over to where Indrid was sitting mere moments ago and feels a small smile tug on his lips. He lifts his joint back up to his lips and takes a long hit.

 

Or, he can just sit here, relax, smoke his joint, and think about how the Mothman is kinda hot.


	2. Meet the Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a rather uneventful night at work, it happens again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOO this was supposed to only be a one-shot, but then I got like two comments asking for a sort of epilogue which got me thinking. Then I tried to write the epilogue, but what I ACTUALLY ended up writing was this sort of inbetween scene between the first part of this fic and their canon encounters. So I'm still gonna get to present-canon time, but this part was a lot of fun to right! And I got a little more flirty shit involved so!! Yeah!! 
> 
> (By the way, for reference: Duck was 21 in the first chapter of this fic, he's 23 in the first part of this chapter, and then he's 25 when he meets Indrid again.)

Years pass by quickly after that strange day, so much so that the memory gets tucked into the part of Duck’s brain labeled “Weird Shit I Probably Dreamt Up While High”. He forgets for a long time, living life as normally as one burdened with the title of Chosen One can. Luckily, the cozy, do-nothing nature of Kepler helps Duck to forget. After receiving his degree, he returns to Kepler, crashing in friend’s house after friend’s house until finally swallowing his pride and going home. Jane’s in middle school by then, and he enjoys spending time with her after school and on the weekends. His parents are nothing but supportive of this inbetween period in Duck’s life, but Duck feels restless in his childhood room. His nights are plagued by dreams of death and destruction, and each night he wakes up to the phantom sound of a woman calling out to him.

 

Duck is about ready to bum at Juno’s house again when his father hands him an application.

 

“Juno’s pops stopped by while you were sleepin’,” His father explains, hiding most of his face in the newspaper he’s reading. “He said she was thinkin’ on applying, ‘n I figured this might be good for ya.” Duck stares at the application for the Monongahela Park Service Rangers in surprise. His father peeks over his paper for a moment, but before Duck can lock eyes he ducks back into the paper. “Figured it would put yer degree t’ good use.”

 

Duck wants to roll his eyes at his father’s deflections, but he decides not to push his luck. Instead, he tucks the application under his arm and pats his dad on the shoulder as he walks past him to the fridge. And, when both think the other isn’t looking, they smile.

 

Duck spends the next week on the application, fussing over credentials and contacting old bosses for references. The last part of the application is an essay, explaining why the Parks Service should pick him for the position. Duck takes extra care to explain his relationship with the forest surrounding Kepler, how it gave him a path to pursue in his otherwise directionless life. He reads every part of his essay over and over, even giving a copy of it to Juno at one point to give feedback.

 

Finally, he drives the twenty minutes to the Parks Service office and turns in his application. The receptionist gives him a polite smile and tells him that, if they’re interested, he’ll be called back in a week to take the fitness assessment portion of the application. Duck nervously nods and drives home to hide in a corner for one week.

 

He barely has to wait a day before getting called in for the second part of the application. From there, he’s hired within the week, and then Duck sleeps dreamlessly for the first time since he got home.

 

\---

 

Being a ranger means Duck’s a government employee. Being a government employee means random drug tests, which means Duck’s pot-smoking days are essentially over.

 

Well, for the most part.

 

The thing about being a _park_ ranger is that you’re pretty much on your own for hours on end, stuck patrolling the woods, driving to the RV lots, or just sitting in a station staring at the sky for hours. So, while there _are_ tests, Duck still doesn’t entirely kick it. Which is fine, since he was a casual smoker anyway. Now, it just means the he doesn’t have to sit on the cold, mossy ground when he wants to take a load off.

 

The only bad part about smoking on the job is once shit goes down, you got to be ready to _move_.

 

Which is how Duck finds himself in his current position, driving his work truck just a _teensy tiny bit stoned_ to the source of the service call. Apparently, someone’s got their truck parked in the middle of the Eastwood Campgrounds, and it isn’t registered with the Parks Service as an overnight camper. So now Duck has to go and probably interrupt two teens trying to get to third base. He _really_ doesn’t want to do that.

 

He pulls up to the Eastwood Campgrounds and finds the offending pick-up sitting there. Duck parks a little behind the truck (purely a precautionary in case they’re dangerous) and steps out to investigate. It’s around 12 AM, and the moon gives enough light for Duck to approach without his flashlight.

 

As he walks to the truck, he notices the windows aren’t fogged up. Good, that means it probably isn’t horny teenagers. Which leaves...a lot of possibilities still. Could be a hunter who wanted to go before the season started, or a camper who couldn’t afford the overnight fee. Could be some dude just getting high; that thought makes Duck chuckle a little. God, would he be able to relate, if that’s the case.

 

But, as Duck comes to the window of the truck, all of those possibilities fly out the window at the sight of the sole passenger laying curled up on the seat of the truck. They look unconscious, and they look cold as _hell_. Duck fumbles with his flashlight and shines it into the driver’s window; the figure inside doesn’t move an inch, besides the consistent shivering.

 

“Ah, shit,” Duck mumbles, trying the handle of the truck and finding it unlocked. He flings open the driver’s side door and leans over the figure, checking their neck for a pulse. Duck sighs in relief when he feels the steady beat and then leans back to check for any signs of an injury or overdose.

 

The person is curled up with their face turned into the back of the seats, but Duck can make out pale blue lips. This person looks to be a guy, probably around his age, and extremely pale with the faintest of freckles dotting his body. He has white hair with black roots that looks like it hasn’t been washed or styled in days, and is wearing a white tank top with red and black checkered pajama pants. Duck has to wonder why the hell someone would come out here in the middle of winter without proper attire, but then he’s brought out of his thoughts by his radio.

 

“Duck? See anything? Over,” It’s Juno, the only other ranger on duty tonight with him, and Duck fumbles with his radio as he grabs this guy by the shoulders and starts to sit him up.

 

“Y-Yeah, uh, we got a...well, I dunno what we got exactly yet. But the sole passenger of the vehicle is unconscious and looks to be, uh, hypothermic.” Duck starts to explain as he arranges the man’s body so he can fireman’s carry him to his truck. “Haven’t had too much time to investigate, but I’m assumin’ his truck ran outta juice while he was asleep. ‘M gonna bring him back to my station and warm ‘im up, then go on from there. Over.”

 

“Ten-four. I’ll make my way over there and investigate the scene; you just worry about gettin’ him warmed up, aight? I-I mean over. Over.” Juno replies, fumbling with the terminology at the end. Duck would tease her about it if the situation wasn’t so dire, so he just holsters his radio and lifts the man onto his shoulders and over to his truck.

 

Now, Duck’s never been much of a “sports guy”, but he is surprised at how easily he’s able to lift this man. Poor guy must be starving; he might even be homeless. Duck dashes those thoughts for right now as he places the man into the passenger seat and buckles him in. Then, he jogs around to the other side, hops in, blasts the heat, and pulls away.

 

The first few minutes go by slowly. Duck keeps gazing over at his passenger to see if he’s woken up. Duck then realizes with shocking clarity that he’s lost his buzz since pulling up to the campgrounds, and he’ll never admit how much it bums him out that he can’t say he’s rescued a freezing man while high anymore. Another thing Duck realizes while driving is that this guy is wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night.

 

Well, it probably wasn’t night when he fell asleep with them on. But still, checkered pajama pants, white tank top, and huuuuuge circular-shaped sunglasses tinted a near opaque red? Wee-woo wee-woo, look out! It’s the fashion police, here to arrest the heck out of this disaster sitting beside him.

 

...Okay, so maybe Duck isn’t _fully_ sobered up yet.

 

Duck mentally kicks himself for calling an unconscious man with hypothermia a fashion disaster just as the man jerks up. It startles Duck enough to swerve a little off the road, but he’s able to quickly correct himself as he watches the man come to himself. Though Duck can’t see his eyes, he can tell the man is both awake and confused as all hell.

 

“Uh, evenin’, pardner.” Duck says, like an idiot. “Fuck--I mean, hello? How’re you feelin’?” The man turns to Duck and watches him for a moment. From the corner of his eyes, Duck gets to see the guy’s full face for the first time. He’s a little gaunt, but it doesn’t look sickly, and he has a few wrinkles that suggest an age around Duck’s or older.

 

“I’ve been better,” The man replies, after a few seconds of watching Duck. The reply catches Duck off-guard, and he snorts.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I can figure that much,” Duck turns onto another road, eyes now trained fully on the road. “But at least you’re awake! Which is, uh, which is...good.” Duck mentally kicks himself again, cursing his mother for passing her awkwardness to him. However, the man next to him smiles slightly and turns away to mess with the heating vents.

 

“Yes, it is indeed good. And I’m starting to warm up, which should assuage your fears of hypothermia.” The man says as he leans over to Duck’s side and turns his vents toward himself. “I do have to thank you for getting me out of that situation, though. I’m afraid my truck ran out of gas, and I was ill-prepared for spending the night without heat.” Duck nods.

 

“Figured that was what happened. But, uh, why didn’t you just call the forestry service? There’s a landline set up at every RV park for emergencies like that.” The question seems to throw the man for a loop, for he just stares into the middle distance for a moment before saying:

 

“I didn’t...know that,” And the way this guy sounds so damn dejected makes Duck let out a laugh, though he’s quick to stop when he notices the man glaring at him.

 

“Sorry, sorry! I just, uh--You’re new here, aren’t ya?” The man seems to consider this for a moment before nodding.

 

“I’ve... _visited_ a few times, but this is the first time I’ve had to stay the night without a place.” The man explains, tone suddenly shifting to curt. “I thought I would only be staying a few hours, but then things...came up, and I was forced to pick a place to camp out.”

 

“Sounds understandable,” Duck says with another nod. “But as a member of the forestry service, I gotta ask that next time you stay overnight on a campground to register through us. That way we know where you’re at, ya know? So there ain’t anymore situations like this.” Duck looks over at him for a moment and smiles. “The Parks Service is here to protect both the forest itself and the things that choose to inhabit it.” The man looks back at Duck, and then quickly turns away with a short nod.

 

Huh, weird.

 

Duck turns back to the road in time to miss the little bit of blush racing to the man’s ears and face. The car falls into silence for the rest of the ride, up until Duck pulls into the station he’s working at tonight.

 

“Well, you’re looking like you’re warmin’ up a bit already, but it wouldn’t hurt to get a couple blankets and heaters on ya.” Duck announces as he kills the ignition and places the keys into his pockets. “Besides, I gotta ask ya a few more questions and fill out some paperwork for this whole thing.” Then, Duck steps out of the car, looking in to see the man still buckled in and staring. “Soooo, let’s get a move on, Mr--”

 

“It’s Cold,” The man says quickly. Duck quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, man, I know it’s cold, but, like, that’s why we’re goin’ inside.”

 

“No, no. Well--yes, it _is_ cold, but that’s my name. Mr. Cold. You started to say mister and I was just finishing the sentence.” The man--Mr. Cold, apparently--says with an amused smile. Duck stares, his expression unreadable.

 

“Yer name’s Mr. Cold?”

 

“Yep!”

 

“...Really?”

 

“It’s a family name.”

 

“...Yer name’s Cold...and you almost died of hypothermia…”

 

“An interesting coincidence, is it not?”

 

“...I fuckin’ guess so, dude.” That gets a laugh out of Mr. Cold, which--holy shit, that _name_. Duck cannot get over the irony of this whole situation that it makes him laugh too. They both just laugh for a good two minutes, until Mr. Cold starts shivering again.

 

“Okay, now I’m fucking freezing, so let’s go.” He says as he clambers out of the car. Duck nods and slams the driver’s door shut.

 

“That’s what I was sayin’ earlier, Snow Miser.”

 

“Oh, we are _not_ going there right now, Ranger Newton.”

 

\---

 

Duck has Mr. Cold settled within five minutes, wrapped in every emergency blanket they keep in the station, along with the only space heater pointed directly at his feet. Despite this, he still shivers slightly, so Duck takes off his ranger’s hat and tosses the beanie he was wearing underneath it to Mr. Cold. He pulls it onto his head with a mumbled thanks, and Duck nods as he starts shuffling through documents to find the proper form.

 

“So, Mr. Cold, I know you mentioned earlier that you’ve visited Kepler before, but what brings you out here tonight?” Duck says, still bent over the filing cabinet tucked underneath the desk.

 

“I--Family matters.” Mr. Cold replies, which surprises Duck. He turns his head to Mr. Cold and eyes him for a moment.

 

“You got family here?” He asks, unable to hide the mild skepticism in his voice. Mr. Cold seems to catch onto this, for he startles in his seat.

 

“W-Well, not exact family, _per se_.” He corrects, wringing his hands a little. “I just used that term because I felt it...fit more than what our official title would be. We’re sort of a...congregation of same-minded folks in similar situations who both benefit and suffer from the presence of one another.” Duck stares for a moment, and the silence that ensues from it causes Mr. Cold to turn back to him. “What? Is that not the basic definition of the most common familial relations?”

 

“Yeah…” Duck trails off, turning back to the files. “Imma be honest with you, m’man, about half of the words ya just said went right over my damn head.” Mr. Cold laughs in response, which brings an amused smile to Duck’s face as he finally locates the right file. “There we go! Right between ‘Fern Overgrowth Assessment’ and ‘Hawk-Related Injury Incident Form’--where no one would fucking think to look!” He sits back up as Mr. Cold laughs again, turning his chair to face him fully now that he’s got everything in order.

 

“There sure are a lot of...odd forms to fill out as a park ranger,” Mr. Cold says with a grin that stretches just a touch too far across his face. It would look more unnerving to Duck if it wasn’t currently plastered onto a man who basically looks like a mound of fabric with a head jammed on top.

 

“Yeah, it sure is a lot of shit, but it’s for the good of the park, ya know?” Duck says, gesturing behind him at the window overlooking this stretch of the Monongahela. “We gotta make sure that if something messes up the ecosystem it gets documented and handled properly. Otherwise we get, like, bad shit.”

 

“Bad shit?” Mr. Cold replies, one eyebrow quirked up. Duck realizes that-- _again_ \--he’s really doing just awful at the whole “casual conversation” thing and splutters for a moment. He then nods, which makes Mr. Cold laugh into his hand in an attempt to hide it.

 

Damn, either this guy is still _really_ out of it, or Duck is just rolling his cards right, because this dude just cannot stop _laughing_ . And it doesn’t sound mocking either; it sounds really genuine, like whatever the hell Duck has been spewing out tonight is entertaining. If only he could be this funny and charismatic when Juno sets him up on dates, then maybe the men would actually call back. Though, Mr. Cold isn’t half-bad to look at, if Duck is being honest. He’s kind of handsome, in the weird way someone with white hair and red sunglasses _can_ be handsome--

 

Fuck. No. Stop stop _stop_. This isn’t happening.

 

“ _So_ , uh, I just gotta ask ya a few questions, get your information, and then we can decide on what’s our next course of action.” Duck blurts out, immediately squashing down his previous train of thought and chucking it out the proverbial window. He’s not gonna try flirting with this dude, nor is he gonna be attracted to him. This guy’s been through enough tonight; he doesn’t need to deal with one blubbering, stuttering, fat mess of a deadbeat dude trying to flirt. He’s _high_ , that’s why his mind is thinking these things. That’s gotta be it; he’s high, he’s high, he’s _fucking obliterated if that makes the thought of his sharp cheekbones and thin lips go away_ \--

 

“Of course, Ranger Newton. Though, I do have one question for you, first.” Mr. Cold cuts off his spiralling train of thought. Duck snaps out of it enough to nod numbly.

 

“Y-Yeah, sure, but, uh, you can just call me Duck.” He replies, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Mr. Cold smiles a little wider (god, can it stretch any further?) and nods in return.

 

“Alright, Duck. Suppose if I can call you by your first name, you can call me by mine.” Mr. Cold says, extending one of his hands out of the mound of blankets toward Duck. “I’m Indrid. Indrid Cold.” Duck looks down at Mr. Cold’s--or, Indrid’s, he supposes--hand.

 

Indrid Cold.

 

Indrid...Cold…

 

Indrid…

 

Huh…

 

Neat name.

 

Duck grasps Indrid’s hand in his own and gives it a solid shake and immediately notices how cold Indrid’s hands are. But also, really _soft_...weird.

 

“Well, you already know my name, but the name’s Duck Newton.” Duck says, then lets go of Indrid’s hand to grab a pen. It totally wasn’t so he could stop himself from holding on for too long, shut up. “But, uh, you said you had a question for me?” Indrid nods, looking amused once more as he returns his hand to under the mound of blankets.

 

“Yes, I do,” Indrid says, his grin morphing into a little shit-eating smirk. “Are you high right now, Duck Newton?”

 

The question throws Duck completely off, and he accidentally flings his pen across the room in surprise. Shit. Fuck. How did he know? Does he really smell that bad? Duck thought he had masked the odor with cologne pretty well, but maybe he’s just used to the smell. Shit, why’s Indrid gotta bring this up now?! What does he want? Is he using this as blackmail to get him out of a fine?! Duck wasn’t going to fine him, anyway, but if his superiors hear he’s been smoking while on the job, and operating a _vehicle_ no less--

 

“Relax, Duck. I’m not going to use this information against you.” Indrid says, unable to mask the amusement in his voice. “Was merely curious.” Duck continues to fumble for his words because did he _really_ just say that all out loud? “As for how I know, you left your weed out on the table.” Duck’s eyes widen and he whips his head around.

 

Sure enough, there’s his baggie of weed and wrappers, sitting right on the table for all to see.

 

Duck lets his head thwap onto the table once for penance. God, he’s such an idiot.

 

Indrid, however, seems to delight himself in Duck’s misery as he starts to laugh again. Somehow, the sound of Indrid’s laughter softens the pain of both embarrassment and the slamming of his head onto the desk. He lifts his head off the desk and grins back at Indrid, deciding in an instant to just go with it.

 

“Yep, you caught, Mr. Cold,” Duck says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m a filthy pothead who managed to sneak his way onto the Force just so he can get paid to smoke and stare at trees for twelve hours. You got me! I know when I’ve been beat! What are ya gonna do? Turn me into the feds? Put me in tree jail? I’ll go willingly; here, I’ll even let you use my cuffs...Wait, fuck, I don’t even _have_ cuffs. _God_ , I’m so _high_ , Indrid.” Duck leans dramatically towards Indrid, who is now howling with laughter. “I’m so fuckin’ _high_ , dude. Wanna hit a doobie, _bruh_ ? _Huh_ ? _Indrid_ , I’m so _high_ , man.” Indrid bends over and laughs into his legs, which makes him fall to the ground. Duck would ask if he’s alright, but Indrid is still laughing his ass off, so he just smiles and waits.

 

Indrid regains his composure after a minute or so, and he’s shaking as he lifts himself back into his seat. Though, Duck notices with just the _teensiest_ bit of pride, he appears to be shaking from laughter and not from the cold like he was previously. Indrid wipes a stray tear off his cheek as he faces Duck again, smile never fading.

 

“I-I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d go with the bit as much as you did.” Indrid says, his voice hoarse. Duck shrugs and gets up to retrieve his pen.

 

“Well, ya know, people have told me I’ve been a ‘yes, and’ kinda guy pretty much m’ whole life.” Duck finds his pen in the corner of the room and holds it up in triumph. “Plus, I kinda walked into that whole dealy, so I figured I might as well roll with it.” He returns to his seat and plops back down, getting serious for a moment. “Though, if you could just... _not_ tell my superiors ‘bout this whole thing, I’d really appreciate it.”

 

“Of course, of course!” Indrid replies immediately, but his grin betrays his innocent tone. Duck quirks an eyebrow at him. “That is...if I could... _partake_ in the festivities with you? It’s been a long night, you see, and I really feel as if I need something to take my mind off the stress.” Duck eyes him for a moment, then rolls his eyes and turns toward the desk.

 

“Don’t gotta be all formal ‘bout it, man. Just ask for a joint, sheesh…” Duck mutters as he preps a wrapper and begins to roll another joint, the sound of Indrid’s mild laughter ringing out behind him. Duck finishes rolling the joint and grabs his ashtray from under the desk (the only thing he managed to hide, it seems). He grabs the lighter from its place in the ashtray and hands both things to Indrid. Indrid places the joint between his lips and lights it, tossing the lighter back to Duck as he takes a big hit. He cranes his neck back and blows the smoke out, letting out a long sigh right after.

 

“You have good stuff, Duck,” Indrid says, passing the joint back to Duck. “Haven’t had stuff this good since Boulder.” Duck furrows his brows as he takes a hit, passing the joint back during his exhale.

 

“You been to Colorado?”

 

“Oh, I’ve been _all_ over,” Indrid says on another exhale. “I’m quite a mobile guy, I suppose.” He hands the joint back to Duck. Duck takes another hit and leans back, making rings with the smoke for the hell of it. Indrid snorts at the sight, and Duck hands the joint back with a smile.

 

“Well, guess I’m honored to have such a seasoned fella to smoke with tonight,” Duck says as Indrid takes a hit. “You got any wild stories from your adventures across this great nation of ours?” Indrid’s relaxed demeanour abruptly stops as he suddenly freezes and looks beyond Duck, like he’s contemplating something dire.

 

“...I do, but aren’t we supposed to be filling out paperwork?” Indrid asks, shaking himself out of it while not-so-subtly dodging the question. Duck supposes that’s fine, if not a little strange.

 

“Eh, I can fill it out later. Juno said she’d check out the scene and report back, ‘n you kinda already told me what happened in the truck. I suppose I _should_ be fining you for staying on campgrounds without paying…” Indrid stiffens a little at that, still holding the joint between his fingers. Duck smirks and leans over, plucking the joint from his fingers and placing it between his lips. He takes a big hit this time, staring at his reflection in Indrid’s glasses. Indrid looks frozen in place, and for the briefest of moments Duck wishes he could see his eyes behind those glasses. Then, Duck leans back and exhales. “But fillin’ out _that_ paperwork is more annoying than just letting ya off with a warning, so…” Duck watches Indrid visibly relax, obviously relieved to hear he won’t be getting fined, and Duck chuckles. Indrid then glares at Duck again, though his face is dusted a little pink.

 

Eh, must be the weed.

 

“You are an asshole, Duck Newton, do you know that?” Indrid says with a scowl as he leans over to snatch the joint out of Duck’s fingers, causing Duck to laugh more. Indrid hides his growing smile with the joint as he takes another hit.

 

“So I’ve been told,” Duck replies, leaning his chair back a little. Indrid takes a second hit, and Duck pouts and makes grabby hands at the joint. Indrid snorts and hands it back. “Nah, but seriously, you _gotta_ have some stories to tell. And we got _all night_ , so...come on! Spill!” Duck takes a hit and notices Indrid stiffen up again.

 

Shit, maybe a little too forceful. “O-Or not, if you don’t wanna. That’s--listen, don’t feel obligated if you’re, uh, uncomfortable or anything like that. I was just--”

 

“It’s fine.” Indrid says simply, looking contemplative. “I suppose...I have a _few_ stories to share. If only you tell me some stories of your own.” Duck frowns.

 

“Well, I’ve lived here basically my whole life, so I don’t think nothin’ I’ve done quite compares--”

 

“I’m curious.” Indrid cuts Duck off again, this time leaning over to take the joint. “Like I said before, my ‘family’ is here, but I don’t visit often enough to know anyone or the area. Plus, you work in the woods! You’ve _got_ to have some interesting stories about that, yes?” Duck considers it as Indrid takes a hit, then shrugs.

 

“Guess I got a few to tell, though I’ve only been workin’ here for, like, a year and a half. So, uh, fair warning that it might not be _too_ interestin’.” Indrid smiles anyway and nods, which makes Duck smile in turn. Damn, they’re both smiling a lot tonight, huh?

 

A lot of smiling, a lot of laughing, a lot of smoking…

 

Could mean something, couldn’t it?

 

“Well,” Indrid says as he passes back the joint to Duck. “I was in Tulsa about a year ago when I had the _strangest_ run-in with the state police. It all started at a Best Western, where I was….”

 

Or it could just be the night, Duck thinks as he takes another hit (smile never leaving his face) and settles in for the rest of his shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's not pictured: Duck falls asleep at some point during their conversation, and wakes up to Juno's voice through his radio. When he looks around, he notices everything put back in order, save for his beanie sitting on the seat across from him.


	3. Meet the Mothman (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After many years and one eye-opening week, it happens one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY ITS BEEN ALMOST A MONTH but listen, like....listen. I wrote the first two chapters like right at the end of the my winter break, and I was trying to think of a good way to round out this story before the new ep came out (which at the time was ep 20, I know that ep 21 just came about but this fic does not take place during that). Then the episode came out and it gave me a really good idea for how to end the story, buuuuuut then I went back to school. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this! I haven't written fics in what feels like forever, and I forgot how much I enjoyed it! Got a little introspective w/ Duck towards the start of this chapter, but like...it's whatever. I love character speculation and development so I go ham on that shit. But I hope there was enough indruck goodness to hold y'all over, and thank you so much for reading!!

Work provides a stable enough routine that the days start blurring into one another, and that interesting night slowly loses its clarity as the months stretch on. Duck lives his life in an easy structure: getting up early for work, feeding his cat (a Siamese stray he named Winnie who has a knack for knocking over forgotten coffee mugs and unsuspecting potted plants) as his coffee brews, running the eight-mile trek to the main station, picking up both his truck and his post for that day, clocking out at the end of his shift, running home, eating dinner with Winnie while some reruns of Animal Planet specials drone on in the background, and then going to bed to do it all again the next day. 

 

And sure, things  _ do  _ disrupt this structure a bit; the weeks when Jane comes home from her missionary trips are always filled with hectic schedules thrown together last-minute to utilize every moment they can spend together. He sometimes will go down to the bar with Juno and socialize, ignoring her requests to set him up on more dates. Leo often invites Duck over to share some beers and talk about life, and Duck takes the occasional trip to the Cryptonomica to shoot the shit with the ever-so-boisterous Ned Chicane (who knows when to ask questions and when to just leave it alone and  _ take the damn sword _ ). But nothing ever rocks the system, you know? Duck can  _ deal  _ with his life and its rare alterations, so he leaves it be. Years pass in the blink of an eye, enjoyed peacefully and without question. 

 

Then, Duck comes toe-to-toe with an eight-foot-tall murder-bear, and all of the weird shit that he’s kept locked  _ far  _ into the crevices of his mind come bursting to the forefront as he watches his normal life go flying off a cliff. 

 

\---

 

Time, somehow, moves even faster after that point. 

 

In the span of nearly five months, Duck learns that monsters are  _ real _ , remembers Minerva is  _ real _ , takes charge of his own destiny again, almost dies  _ a bunch _ , fights and kills  _ three abominations _ , meets the  _ Mothman and Bigfoot _ , learns his mentor and friend committed mass genocide and is now probably  _ dead  _ because of a  _ fucking meteor _ , and learns his  _ neighbor is somehow caught up in this bullshit _ . 

 

Oh, and then **_loses all of the abilities he just recently decided to use_** **_and is now basically just some dipshit with a broken sword and a skateboard_**. 

 

Things are just going  _ great  _ for Duck, right now. And right before Christmas, too! 

 

That’s right, by the time Duck collapses onto his bed after the fight with the tree and the Minerva-and-Leo situation, the clock has rolled into the following day: Christmas Eve. 

 

Thank the heavens above that Jane isn’t home for the holidays because all Duck wants to do for the next month is _ sleep _ .

 

\--- 

 

He gets about two days into that sleep-month before deciding, fuck this, he’s gonna take a walk. 

 

So that’s where Duck is now, walking through the snow-covered pines in the early afternoon, trying his damndest to shove any and all thoughts out of his brain. Allowing his mind even a millisecond to think has Duck running through a slideshow of the past few days and all the ways Duck fucked it up for good. So, Duck opts to not think at all and instead focuses on his surroundings and the comfort that they bring. 

 

He usually waits until finding a place to sit before he starts, but Duck finds himself pulling a joint from his pocket and lighting it. He takes a hit as he walks, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth and mingle with his already-visible breath. 

 

Duck hasn’t smoked since that incident when he was twenty-five; he may not remember the details of it much, but he certainly remembers the anxiety of waking up the next morning with his face slumped against the desk while on the clock. But, given the built-up stress and anxiety from the past few months, Duck decides he’s going to treat himself to a little taste of his teenage-burnout years. He called up his buddy who used to sell to him (now an owner of a successful marijuana dispensary out in Colorado) and asked if he was around to share any “merchandise” with an old friend. Luckily for Duck, the guy happened to be in town for the holidays and gave Duck enough stuff to take the edge off several stressful months, refusing payment on the grounds that he owed Duck a favor. 

 

It brings more comfort to Duck than he thought it would; the act of exhaling smoke feels cathartic, in a way. Like he’s letting out all of the negative thoughts coursing through his head. He’s able to let go of all thoughts and feelings and just focuses on the act of breathing. In, out. In, out. 

 

Take a hit--in--and exhale--out. 

 

Fuck, is Duck tired. 

 

His legs hurt like hell (a feeling that is not  _ new  _ but  _ strange _ , given the twenty years he spent doing much more and feeling a lot less) and his arms hang heavy at his sides each time he relaxes them. His back is sore, his knees ache, his head throbs--all sensations he’s felt before, but are now heightened thanks to his abilities being gone. 

 

Duck arrives at his spot and smiles tiredly, admiring the serene stillness the forest provides. He settles down onto the layer of snow covering the mossy floor and leans back on his free hand. His fingers immediately tense from the chill, and Duck quickly sits up to throw a glove on before leaning back again. 

 

He takes a hit and lets the smoke sit in his mouth for a second, allowing the sensation of smoke lingering in his system to lull him into a further sense of relaxation. He waits until his lungs start to burn before exhaling in a long sigh. Then, he watches as the smoke curls and wisps through the December sky before dissipating into nothing. Duck smiles, but his heart is not in it, and so it fades like the smoke as he leans his head back and shuts his eyes. The act of bringing the joint to his lips is muscle memory by now, so he doesn’t need to look in order to take another hit. This one he takes in a similar fashion to the last one, holding it in for as long as possible before exhaling. 

 

Duck’s mid-inhale when the sound of flapping wings and a large thud startles him alert. His chest suddenly tightens, causing Duck to cough violently and send the joint in his mouth onto the snowy ground. Tears form in his eyes that he wipes away as he looks to see what the hell created that noise. 

 

In front of him stands a creature, probably seven or eight feet tall, with massive black wings and three sets of arms. Piercing red eyes lock with Duck’s as the bug-like creature looms over him. Duck stares for a moment before awkwardly waving. 

 

“Uh, hey Indrid,” Duck says, “You kinda, uh, scared the _ hell _ outta me man, I’m not gonna lie.” 

 

“I apologize,” Indrid says as he sits down, bottom and middle sets of arms crossing while the top set sit with his hands folded. “My entrances have been known to be startling.” Duck shrugs and sits up a little straighter, the previous relaxation now abandoned with the addition of the Mothman’s presence. 

 

“Nah, I mean, yer good, man.” Duck replies. “I was just not expectin’ ya, is all. So, uh...what’s up?” 

 

“Oh, not much,” Indrid says, staring at Duck with an unreadable expression. Boy, Duck is having trouble looking casual in this situation. For some reason it feels like Duck has been here before, but that would be impossible since-- “I imagine your holiday was quite relaxing, given the stress you’ve experienced these past few days, yes?” Duck is jolted from his train of thought by Indrid’s voice, and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck as he scrambles to think of a coherent response. 

 

“Uh--yeah, uh….yep.” A solid conversationalist, that Duck Newton. “ _ Fuck _ \--I mean, yeah! It was...certainly  _ something _ , I mean--sure.” Indrid cocks his head quizzically at Duck, which only makes Duck panic. “I mean! Yes! My holiday! Was! Great! How about you!” 

 

It is at this point Duck knows he’s dug himself into a real shitty hole, but he blames it on the weed. Speaking of weed… 

 

“ _ Shit _ ,” Duck mutters as he finally notices the joint lying on the ground, end snuffed out by the snow. He fumbles to pick it up, then realizes Indrid is still here and watching. “Um, this was here already! I, uh, confiscated it...From...raccoons-- _ shit _ \--teens! From  _ teens _ , and I was just, uh….analyzing it? Hold on-- _ fuck _ \--I mean I was just--” 

 

“You don’t need to lie, Duck Newton,” Indrid cuts Duck off, amused. “In fact, I implore you to  _ never  _ lie because you are utter dogshit at it.” Duck huffs and looks down at his hands, feeling his face get hot as Indrid lets out a little laugh. “Besides, even if I  _ was  _ here to ‘bust you’, who would I go to? The  _ police _ ? I’m sure they would rather take shots at the Mothman than to go arrest an old ranger having a moment to himself.” 

 

Duck chuckles to himself and tucks the joint back into his pocket. “That tracks, I s’pose.” Duck says, “But they’d probably listen to ya in yer disguise…” Which reminds Duck of the last time he saw Indrid. 

 

Bloodied and bruised, chained up to a living tree by a goatman. 

 

Then, as the actual Mothman, thanks to Duck decking him in the face in order to let him escape. 

 

Escape from the rest of that fight, which resulted in his glasses getting left behind. 

 

Glasses that Duck picked up before Ned and Aubrey could see them and try to hawk them off to Heathcliff for more items. 

 

Glasses that Indrid hasn’t had since that night, which means… 

 

“Ah,  _ shit _ ,” Duck suddenly feels  _ extremely  _ embarrassed as he realizes the reason why Indrid is here. 

 

“I see you’ve come to a conclusion, Duck.” Indrid says with none of the irritation or anger Duck would expect from someone who has had to wander around as _the_ _fucking Mothman_ for four days. “They’re in your inside left pocket of your coat, right next to your wallet.” And, sure enough, Duck reaches into that pocket and feels the cold metal of Indrid’s specs against his fingertips. He pulls them out and hands them to Indrid with a nervous chuckle. 

 

“Sorry ‘bout that, Indrid. I swear I wasn’t tryin’ to nab ‘em from ya, I’ve just been  **a little out of it lately** .” Indrid’s voice echoes Duck’s thought as he reaches over and takes the glasses from Duck. 

 

“I know you weren’t going to steal them. If you were, I would’ve come to you much sooner.” Indrid says as he fiddles with the glasses in his top set of hands. “I also know the reason your mind’s been a little...scattered, so I figured I would just wait until you were ready to brace the world again before approaching you about my disguise. Luckily, at this time of year, not many folks are walking around looking for the Mothman; so I’ve been able to stay holed up in my Winnebago without much trouble from tourists.” In normal circumstances, Duck would probably make some snide little comment about tourists or how the image of the Mothman curled up on a couch in a Winnebago is a little ridiculous. But all Duck’s mind is able to focus on is the fact that  _ Indrid knows _ . 

 

“You...know about what happened?” Duck asks, his voice suddenly small. Indrid looks at him for a moment, expression unreadable once more, and then nods. 

 

“To be fair, I know about  _ everything _ . Every instance of everything happening an infinite number of ways. Unfortunately, by the time I had managed to find safety and reassurance that that hole in the middle of town wasn’t going to kill anyone, I was too late to warn you about...Well. I don’t think it’s fair of me to talk about things I’m not  _ supposed  _ to know.” Indrid looks away from Duck and out into the wilderness surrounding them. “That’s the only real issue I  _ have  _ with my ability; I know everything that’s going to happen, even if I shouldn’t know about that thing in the first place. So I won’t say anything else on the matter, if you would like. It’s your personal life, after all.” 

 

Duck almost wants to take the offer on the table of dropping it, but something makes him pause. He hasn’t been able to talk about Minerva to  _ anyone _ , besides Leo. But the recent discovery of Leo knowing and being another Chosen deters Duck from conversation topics like that. Besides Leo, no one knows. Not Aubrey, who has shared so many anecdotes from her life (both good and bad) with him in these past couple months that she’s almost become another sister to him. Not Ned, who Duck has known for years and trusted to keep one part of this major secret hidden from the rest of the world. Not Mama, or Barclay, or Dani, or Jake, or anyone at the Lodge. Not Juno or any of his coworkers, who he has spent long hours working beside for the past two decades. Not even  _ Jane _ ; his sister who has had his back since she was able to understand what that phrase meant. 

 

But now...someone  _ can  _ know. Indrid can know, and Indrid can understand. Indrid can maybe even  _ help _ , though that help might be minimal in the grand scope of fuckery that Duck has found himself stuck in. 

 

So, instead of ignoring it and commenting on something asinine, Duck sighs. 

 

“Nah, we can talk about it.” Duck says at last, seemingly surprising Indrid if his physical jolt is any indicator. “I’ve...to be honest, Indrid, I’ve been waitin’ for someone to talk to this shit about.” He pulls the snubbed-out joint from his pocket and goes to relight it before stopping and looking up at Indrid. “Uh, dunno if Mothmen are capable of smokin’, but if you wanna I got plenty to share.” Indrid considers the whole of what Duck’s said for a moment, like he’s debating what course of action is best. 

 

“I’m...not really able to smoke in my Sylph form. I mean, I  _ can _ , but it doesn’t necessarily react well with my anatomy.” Indrid then reaches out a hand toward Duck. “Give me your coat.” 

 

“Wha--I don’t understand how that’ll  _ help _ , but I guess.” Duck shrugs off his jacket, grateful for the extra layers he put on before heading out, and hands it to Indrid. Indrid places the jacket in his lap. Then, without another word, slips his glasses back on. 

 

In an instant, he is back to his human form. He shivers immediately (wearing only a white tank top and dark blue jeans with brown combat boots) and quickly pulls Duck’s jacket on. He looks puny in Duck’s clothes, and Duck stifles a laugh as Indrid zips up the jacket and adjusts to a more comfortable seating position. 

 

“You laugh now, but now  _ I’m  _ in the possession of all the weed.” Indrid teases, which makes Duck laugh until he realizes that Indrid’s right. A smug smirk spreads across Indrid’s face as Duck levels him an unimpressed stare. 

 

“Indrid.” 

 

“Yeeeeeeees?” 

 

“Can I please have my weed?” 

 

“But you already have a joint in your hand, I don’t see why you need to have  _ all  _ of it?” 

 

“If I’m gonna roll you a joint, ‘m gonna need my weed back.” 

 

“We can just share! And then I can keep the weed!” 

 

“ _ Indrid _ .” 

 

“Oh, alright,” Indrid concedes, pulling the baggie out of Duck’s jacket and tossing it to him. He also tosses Duck the lighter, which Duck was about to ask for. “And I mean it about the sharing. No need to waste if we’re not going to be smoking much, anyway.” Duck almost questions why they won’t smoking much, but he decides to drop it. Not like he was planning on getting super stoned in the first place. 

 

Duck relights the joint and takes a hit, exhaling as he passes it to Indrid. He leans back on his hand again, staring up into the treetops as Indrid takes a hit. A few minutes pass like this, the simple passing back-and-forth of the joint in companionable silence. Duck’s mind wanders as he relaxes more and more, drifting aimlessly from one thought to another in a comfortable haze. Indrid’s presence keeps Duck tethered to the present, so he’s able to register when Indrid shifts awkwardly on their next pass. 

 

“So, you know you’re not the only Chosen One.” If there’s one thing Indrid seems to be good at, it’s not cutting corners. The statement is so to-the-point that Duck freezes mid-inhale and chokes. He leans over himself and coughs, Indrid patting his back firmly throughout it. When his lungs stop burning, Duck sits back up and lets out a disbelieving laugh. 

 

“I--I mean,  _ yeah _ , Indrid. Thanks for, uh, putting it as  _ delicately  _ as ya did just now. Totally haven’t been beating myself up over that shit for, like, four days now.” Duck replies, his tone bitter despite his attempts to mask it with humor. “How long have you had that lil’ tidbit of info for?” Indrid frowns, and it’s then that Duck realizes he’s kind of being a jerk even though  _ he _ was the one who asked for this. “Shit, I--I’m sorry, man. I got a real hairy trigger finger on my temper right now, I guess.” 

 

“It’s perfectly reasonable for you to be upset, Duck.” Indrid says, “The gravity of the things you’ve learned recently is a lot to take in, especially when you’ve had this status for so long. As for your question? I’ve known...for a while.” He looks guilty as he says this, and he starts fiddling with the ends of Duck’s jacket absentmindedly. “The entire time, to be exact. But, like I said before, it seemed...too personal for me to tell you. You’ve managed to hide quite a bit of information regarding your Chosen status from your friends, and I felt it rude of me to suddenly start talking about it in front of them. And Leo was here long before I settled in Kepler for good, so I figured you wouldn’t believe me if I was the one to tell you.” 

 

Duck sits and stares, absorbing all that Indrid just laid out for him. Then, he sighs and takes another hit. “Yeah, that tracks,” he says as he passes the joint back to Indrid, who makes no move to put it to his lips. “Honestly, I’m still kinda reelin’ from the fact that Leo is even a _ part  _ of this whole destiny bullshit. But, if you knew about my whole...situation the entire time, does that mean you knew about  **the meteor?** ” 

 

“Yes, I saw numerous possibilities involving the meteor hitting Minerva’s planet.” Indrid says, finally bringing the joint up to his mouth to take a hit. Duck watches him, frowning, as he tilts his head back and blows the smoke out in one go. “There was nothing you could do to stop it, Duck,” he says to the sky. “Nor was there anything you could do to change the current outcome. That meteor was headed to either one of two places: Minerva’s planet, or Earth. Had the latter happened, we wouldn’t even be alive to have this conversation.” Duck opens his mouth to argue, but is cut off when Indrid tilts his face back to him. “Not only would Earth be destroyed, but Earth’s connection with Sylvain would cause partial damage to Her; and She would perish, along with the Sylphs still living on Her surface. This was the outcome with the least casualties. It was one versus billions, Duck.” 

 

“That doesn’t make it right, though!” Duck shouts, frustration burning beneath his skin as he shoots upright. “One life is still  _ one life _ , Indrid, goddamn! She’s still  _ gone _ , and I still feel like I coulda done something more to help!” Duck finds himself on his feet, his rant going beyond Indrid as he paces back-and-forth erratically. “Hell, she might really be  _ gone _ , and then I’ll never be able to tell her I’m sorry for being a shitbag all these years! And that I wish I had more time to get to know her because living with the guilt of millions of deaths sure don’t sound pleasant, huh?! A-And that I don’t hate her--I  _ never  _ hated  _ her _ \--I just hated the idea of the world’s fate being put on my shoulders at eighteen because  _ fuck  _ was I dealin’ with a lot of shit at that age, like, damn! An-And that I’m sorry for pushing her away and letting the Lodge take responsibility for all the shit I was  _ supposed  _ to be doin’ ‘cause I bet I’m the reason a lot of fine folks are dead now, huh!? And--” 

 

“ _ Duck _ .” Indrid’s voice is firm--firmer than it has ever sounded before--and Duck realizes he’s standing completely still, probably because of Indrid’s hands that are on both of his shoulders to keep him there. Duck looks at Indrid, and from this close he sees the fine lines by his mouth and a faint smattering of freckles along his nose. His glasses mirror Duck’s reflection and--wow, he’s crying? When the hell did that happen? Duck hasn’t cried in, God, what feels like  _ years  _ now. Boy, this is just embarrassing, huh? Crying in front of a guy who probably watches millions of people die infinitely as he tries to narrow down which death is most probable-- “Duck Newton, listen to my voice and stop trying to make one of our situations worse than the other.” Duck snaps out of it and focuses back in on Indrid. 

 

“We share...a lot more in common than you may think, Duck Newton.” Indrid says. “We are both pawns for Fate’s will, and are forced to live with both the benefits and consequences of such a position. We have both loved and lost and continue to lose, but we also continue to love. My--My love for your  _ world _ , Duck, is the reason why I am able to wake up every morning and see the things I see. I may not be a mind reader, Duck, but I know what you think of my powers. And, for the most part, you are accurate in your estimations. I see  _ countless _ deaths with each blink of my eyes. It’s part of the reason I chose these glasses for my disguise, besides how they add to my overall aesthetic. They also hide the sorrow I feel, and the guilt, and the  _ pain _ . Being a Seer...it  _ sucks _ . I hate it with each failure I make.” 

 

“But with each failure, I also succeed. In small ways, far before I decided to contact you and the Pine Guard with guidance regarding the most recent abomination, I have influenced the futures enough to  _ save  _ people. And that’s where we also share a commonality, Duck.  _ We save lives _ . And we do it because our love extends far beyond where we ache. My love for Earth, your love for your friends, it all translates into a reason to keep fighting. I know that I am not the most qualified to say this, given my flighty past, but you  _ have to keep fighting _ . Not just because you  _ were  _ the Chosen One, but because you  _ are  _ Duck Newton. And the Duck Newton I have witnessed in my visions doesn’t back down from a challenge, even when he’s been knocked on his ass by a giant monster-bear, or a water monster, or a goat man, or a tree monster, or a  _ skateboard _ \--” 

 

“Alright, alright! I get it!” Duck cuts Indrid off with a laugh as he devolves into listing things that have knocked Duck flat on his ass. Indrid smiles when he sees Duck laugh and loosens his grip on Duck’s shoulders, letting his arms return to his sides. Duck smiles back, feeling at a loss for words. “I-I’ll be honest, kinda don’t know what to say, really…” 

 

“You don’t have to say anything.” Indrid replies. Then, he looks down at the ground. “Though I  _ did  _ kinda drop the joint when I got up to stop you, so you’re probably gonna need to roll that other one now…” Duck follows Indrid’s gaze and, sure enough, the joint sits on the snow between them, thoroughly soaked. Duck sighs, picks the joint up, and shoves it in his hoodie pocket before walking back over to his spot and sitting back down. 

 

“Yeah, alright.” He says, looking up at Indrid and gesturing to come over. “You gonna stand there all day, or are ya gonna smoke with me?” Indrid laughs and sits beside Duck. 

 

“As long as you don’t hog it,” He says, earning a playful shove from Duck which sends them both into companionable laughter. 

 

\--- 

 

“Ay, ‘drid, y’wanna hear som’n funny?” It’s hours later now, and the sun sits low in the sky, lighting the two men in an amber wash of glow through the treetops. Duck lays sprawled out on the snow, having long-given up on leaning back on his hand, not at all affected by the cold seeping in through his layers. Indrid sits beside Duck, leaning back on his hand much like Duck was earlier, looking down at the other man with amusement. They burned through the joint a while ago, content to ride their highs for the rest of the night. Duck is especially content, feeling the effects a little more than usual (probably due to his newfound weakness). He smiles lazily and stares at the sky, occasionally lifting an arm up to wave it at something before letting it flop back down on his chest. Their conversations have been enjoyable and entertaining, with the occasional lulls that never feel awkward before someone comes up with a new topic. 

 

“Hit me,” Indrid replies, watching Duck nod to himself as he lifts a hand up to gesture around him. 

 

“I th’nk I, uhhh….think I had a dream about you….or, like, tripped and thought y’ were there? Dunno…” Duck furrows his brows as he tries to figure out the difference between a trip and a dream. Then, he shakes his head as he decides it isn’t worth it to find out. “Anyway, it was r’lly weird, man...Kinda funny? I dunno…” He turns his head and looks at Indrid, who is watching him with a big grin. The kind of big grins that give away the person knowing exactly what you’re talking about, but Duck supposes that can’t be helped. The guy  _ can  _ see the future. “You know what I’m gonna  **say anyway, right?** ” He blinks as Indrid finishes his sentence with him, but then shakes his head and scoots a little closer. 

 

“Technically I do, yes,” Indrid says as he moves, turning to face Duck fully and laying down on his stomach to reach his eye-level. “But--please, do continue. You had a  _ dream  _ about me?” Duck looks away from Indrid, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. 

 

“Well, when you say it like  _ that  _ it sounds scandalous…” Duck mutters, then looks back when he hears Indrid snort. “Nah, nah, it was more like...the  _ Mothman _ you, not  _ you  _ you. Didn’t even know you  _ were  _ the M’thman at this point…” Duck turns back to the sky as he tries to remember. “I think I was, like, twenty-one at the time? Y-Yeah, I was twenty-one, and I was back home f’r the weekend. I went to a community college a couple towns away, but that’s not--that’s not relevant. Anyway, uh, I was back home, and I remember gettin’  _ into it  _ with my Dad. Like, just yellin’ back ‘n forth ‘n shit over somethin’ stupid...Think it was about my  _ hair _ , ‘cause I used to keep it kinda long ‘n shit? Whatever, it was stupid, and I ran outta the house to get some air. And I came  _ here  _ because, uh, this is kinda my spot? Since I was little ‘n shit, I’d come here and just hang out.So I was out here just smokin’, ‘cause I was twenty-one but hated drinking, when I just...heh, yer gonna laugh but, like...you showed up.” 

 

“I  _ did _ ?” Indrid asks. 

 

Duck laughs under his breath. “ _ Yeah _ , yeah, you, like, flew in outta nowhere, and, uh...just hung out. It was kinda cool, ‘cause my roommate at school was, like,  _ super  _ into that cryptid shit and I had just met the fuckin’  _ Mothman _ . But I didn’t! ‘Cause the Mothman ain’t...the Mothman ain’t, uh…” Duck slowly starts to frown as realization dawns on him. “Ah,  _ shit _ .” He looks over at Indrid, who is wearing the world’s largest shit-eating grin at this moment. “That  _ was  _ you, wasn’t it?” 

 

“Got it one,” Indrid says. Duck snorts, then he looks back up at the sky and barks out a laugh. But the laughter keeps coming, and soon enough Duck is crying laughing at the sky from the absurdity of his life while Indrid quietly snickers beside him. 

 

“ _ Man _ , and here I thought I was just getting caught up in all the paranormal bullshit my buddy Mike was spittin’.” Duck says as he catches his breath. “He woulda flipped his lid, had I of known you were  _ real _ .” 

 

Indrid shrugs and returns to his seating position. “Well, I didn’t necessarily  _ hide  _ my identity from you, Duck. I was just...sort of  _ banking  _ on the possibility of you assuming it was a bad trip.” Duck shoots a glare at Indrid, who smiles innocently back at him in response. Duck rolls his eyes and returns his gaze to the treetops. 

 

“Well, wasn’t necessarily a  _ bad  _ trip, either…” Duck mumbles defensively, to which Indrid chuckles. 

 

“Oh yes, I know. If memory serves, a certain someone here had quite the trouble with admitting my Sylph form was attractive.” Indrid coyly adds, expecting Duck to choke and shoot upright. He looks back at Duck’s increasingly red face and takes pity on him, already seeing enough timelines where he tries to lie his way out of it to know how badly this will go. “Don’t be embarrassed, Duck. You were young! You thought I wasn’t real! And it’s not like I was  _ offended _ , or anything. In fact, I--uh, nevermind.” 

 

Now it’s Duck’s turn to fix Indrid a shit-eating grin. “Naw, you finish that sentence, Mr. Cold. What were you about to say you were?” Indrid glares at him, but knows he’s been caught, so he turns away from Duck and mutters into his hand. Wrong-o. “Nuh-uh, you turn around and let me hear what you have t’ say. I’ve let enough embarrassing shit loose right now. We’re imbalanced.” Indrid huffs and quickly turns to face Duck. 

 

“I said I was  _ flattered _ , alright? Are we even?” Indrid admits, desperately trying to ignore the light dusting of pink across his face. Duck smiles and nods, being kind enough to laugh when Indrid turned away again. 

 

“Aw, c’mon, don’t get all pouty,” Duck leans over to Indrid and playfully bops his shoulder. “It was, like, twenty years ago, at this point. We can laugh at it.” Indrid continues to look away, but Duck can see him smiling, and that’s all that matters. “Anyway, it’s--uh, I mean--it’s not like that’s  _ changed _ , either.” Fuck, that was dumb to say. Why did Duck say that? He didn’t need to say that. 

 

Indrid’s head perks up, and Duck immediately knows he’s screwed.  _ Fuck _ , why did he say that? Indrid’s head starts to turn, but before he’s even able to move Duck’s brain fires into overdrive. 

 

“I-I mean! Like--uh, ya know! Um-- _ shit _ \--it’s not like, uh. Fuck, man, I mean? You’re good? Like--fuck--like you’re good! And, uh, nice?  _ Shit _ . You’re nice and good! And it’s not like I’m uh--It’s not like I’m  _ trying to _ \--shit! Fuck! I think you’re nice and good! And attractive?  _ Fuck _ , this is real embarrassin’, I’m sorry, dude, I just--” He pauses as locks eyes with Indrid. Well, glasses-to-eyes with Indrid. Indrid looks...unreadable. It’s kind of par for the course with Indrid, but in this scenario it makes all of the hairs on Duck’s neck stand on end. 

 

Indrid opens his mouth, then shuts it. He does that two or three more times before just going, “Huh,” and then leaning back. Duck doesn’t know how to react to that, other than to assume it’s something  _ bad  _ and that Duck’s fucked this whole thing up somehow-- 

 

“You didn’t mess anything up.” Indrid, as always, cuts off Duck’s train of thought. “And before you say I’m a mind reader, there were four timelines where you expressed these thoughts out loud. I’m...huh.” Duck watches Indrid put a hand to his chin and stare downward into the distance. Almost like he’s both thinking and scanning the timelines at the same time. “I’m...I don’t know what to say.” 

 

“Y-You don’t have to say anythin’, if you don’t want.” Duck rubs the back of his neck nervously, his eyes now darting every which direction. “I’m sorry I put alla this on ya, man. I dunno why I say shit sometimes; guess I can sorta blame this one on the pot, though, ‘cause it’s been a while and--” 

 

“Duck, would you like to hang out sometime?” 

 

The question, though a seemingly logical conclusion to the conversation they were just having, still makes Duck choke on whatever words he was about to say. He almost thinks he imagined it because Indrid is still staring at the floor, but then he’s facing him and Duck knows he didn’t dream it up. That his bizarro life has just gotten a little  _ more  _ weird because the Mothman just asked him out on a da-- 

 

“Not a date, Duck.” Indrid clarifies, but then seems to regret his word choice and backpedals. “N-Not that can’t happen  _ eventually _ , it’s just--um. I’ve been studying human customs to know that going on a date  _ now  _ would sort of be weird. Disregarding our past encounters, we’ve only had about two or three full-length conversations. And two of those were in the middle of a hunt, so it wasn’t like there was time for us to really...chat.” He’s gesturing wildly with his hands, and Duck can imagine that if they were back in Indrid’s Winnebago that he would be tearing drawings down from the wall frantically. 

 

“And it seems obvious to me that there’s a  _ something  _ between us already. You are one of the first humans that I’ve actually  _ wanted  _ to talk with, and it seems you share a similar feeling. A-And there are things you don’t know about me that you  _ should  _ know, and there are things I know about you that I  _ shouldn’t  _ but would like to hear from you. So I just…” Indrid’s hands are motionless as he seems to catch himself in his rambling. He slowly lowers his hands and folds them in his lap. “You can say no, if you want.” 

 

“No,” Duck says, like a dumbass. “I mean, n-not that kinda no! Like, yeah! Yeah, sure! Okay!” He laughs at himself, shaking his head. “God, am I bad at this.” 

 

Indrid, who seems to be coming out of daze the longer Duck speaks, nods himself and says, “Ditto,” with his own small laugh. Duck smiles, feeling emboldened by both of their lack of communicating emotions properly. 

 

“But, yeah, I mean...Yer not wrong about really  _ anything  _ ya just said, so, uh, yeah...I’d kinda like to hang out.” Duck feels like a fucking teenager again, and it feels  _ great _ . “Why don’t I stop by tomorrow and we can just hang out? I can bring over a movie ‘n shit, maybe order a pizza…” Indrid finally looks like he’s back in the present, and his goofy grin fails to hide the mounting excitement building in the Sylph. 

 

“Okay, I’ll bring the ‘nog.” Indrid says, “And the beer, since I know you won’t drink eggnog with pizza.” Duck chuckles and nods. 

 

“It’s a date, then. Or--fuck, it’s  _ not  _ a date, but it’s a...hang-out.” Indrid laughs and nods in agreement. 

 

“It’s a hang-out.” Indrid confirms, smiling at Duck, who follows suit. The two sit there, smiling, unsure of how to continue the conversation. 

 

Luckily, Mother Nature has a better idea, as a chill gust of wind sweeps through the forest. Indrid begins to tremble violently and quickly gets to his feet. 

 

“Yes, as much as I’ve enjoyed this day, I’m afraid this is my time to leave.” Indrid shoves his hands into the pockets of Duck’s jacket and smiles down to the ranger. “Until tomorrow, I guess.” Then, he turns heel and quickly walks away. Duck waves at his retreating figure, not feeling up to leave himself. 

 

Then, realization hits him again. 

 

“H-Hey! Uh, Indrid, hey! Ya got my jacket there, bud!” Duck stands up and shouts after Indrid, who continues to walk away. “Indrid!  _ Indrid _ , my  _ jacket _ !” Through the trees, Duck can hear laughter, and he shakes his head at the spot where Indrid disappeared into the forest. 

 

“Bastard…” Duck mutters good-naturedly to himself, kicking up some snow at his feet. He shoves both hands into his hoodie pocket and turns to home, smiling the whole way.

 

Well, he supposes he can go get it tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys like my writing, feel free to send requests on [my tumblr](http://lesbian--susie.tumblr.com/)!! Or if you just wanna come yell at me abt amnesty-related stuff, feel free idc


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